


In Health

by Fyre



Series: His Master's Son [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rab Graham was the strongest man Bellamy Goldacre knew, until suddenly he wasn't.</p><p>A follow-on piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/504192/chapters/1145838">In Sickness</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	In Health

Rab was recovering, little by little.

It had taken three days since Bellamy returned from London, but the fever had finally broken. Bellamy felt safe enough to leave his lover sleeping peacefully, while he retreated to his own chambers, shed his clothing, and fell face first upon the bed, drained to the point of exhaustion.

He could not remember the last time he had slept through the night.

With the last of his energy, he dragged the covers over his body, then closed his eyes.

When he finally woke, it was still dark outside his window. Blindly - no candles to hand and no fires lit - he stumbled to his garderobe and pulled on the first shirt and breeches he came to. He had no notion if they matched, and nor did he care.

In the quiet darkness of the house, he made his way back to the room that presently housed Rab. The door was ajar, and a fire must have been lit, for he could see the warming glow. The bed, however, was empty.

Bellamy’s heart leapt in sudden fear, and the fear was just as suddenly crushed when he opened the door to find Rab was sitting in the chair close to the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, a tankard held between his hands.

“You’re up, then,” Bellamy said quietly, closing the door behind him.

Rab looked up at him, and by the firelight, he looked so gaunt and hollow-cheeked that Bellamy longed to gather him up and hold him, safe from the world. “Aye,” he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. “They brought me a posset. Somethin’ soft.”

Bellamy approached the second chair, sitting down. “Well, they could hardly give you a steak when you’ve been bringing up anything they fed you for days,” he murmured, drinking in his lover’s face. 

In the three nights of the fever, when he feared the worst, all he wanted was one more instant when Rab would look at him, would smile, would know him. As the fever burned, it seemed that he would not see any of those things ever again, and the very thought had terrified him so very much that he wanted to weep.

Now, Rab looked at him. He was thinner, paler, his eyes still blood-shot and his lips cracked and dry, but he was alive enough to smile wearily.

“True enough,” he murmured.

Mutely, Bellamy held out his hand, and Rab painstakingly set down the tankard he was holding on the sidetable beside him. That done, he clasped Bellamy’s fingers in his own, his dark eyes fixed on Bellamy’s face.

“I forbid you,” Bellamy whispered hoarsely, “to ever scare me so again.”

Rab’s fingers tightened on his. “Ye rode, they said,” he murmured. “From London. For me?”

Bellamy nodded. “Father’s letter.” His voice was too unsteady to speak more eloquently. “He was afraid.”

He was afraid.

That was understating the state of his father’s letter. The Duke of Rutherglen knew well how much his son loved the groundskeeper. His father knew well that the loss of his lover might be the breaking of his eldest child. He had been terse, direct, and had not lied, and so, Bellamy had mounted a horse for the first time in years and rode like the devil himself was on his tail.

Rab leaned forward carefully, and lifted Bellamy’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of his palm gently. “Ye,” he said in a low whisper, “are a nancy poof.”

Bellamy could not keep the tears from falling, hot upon his cheeks. “And you are a conceited hairy bastard,” he whispered, uncurling one finger to brush Rab’s cheek. “Even hairier than usual, I would wager.”

Rab leaned back in the chair, looking near spent already. “Because usin’ a blade was a good idea, when I couldnae see straight,” he murmured, his eyes closing. “Ye daft sod.” He drew a breath, pulling the blanket closer around him.

“You should get back to bed,” Bellamy said quietly. “I’ll help you.”

Rab was silent for a moment, then nodded.

For all that the weight had shrunk from his bones, he was still heavy when he leaned on Bellamy’s shoulder, stumbling back towards the bed. The sheets had been stripped and changed, most likely when he had finally risen from them.

“How long have you been in that chair?” Bellamy asked, helping him sit down on the edge of the bed.

Rab shook his head. “T’was daylight,” he murmured. “Must have slept.”

Bellamy laid him back against the pillows, brushing his heavy, sweat-damped curls back from his brow. “You will feel better for more rest,” he said. “I will stay here until morning, and if you need anything, call my name.”

“Are ye going to rest?” Rab said, his eyes opening a sliver. Bellamy hesitated, and Rab patted the bed beside him. “Rest here.”

“There’s scarce room,” Bellamy murmured.

Rab’s smile was tired. “Enough,” he said, patting the bed again. “Keep me warm?”

Bellamy could hardly protest the chance to hold his lover again. He rose and went to the door, locking it securely, then returned to the bed. He shed his breeches, and slid beneath the covers, curving his chest against Rab’s back and holding him close.

He hadn’t the heart to tell Rab he had already slept for near a dozen hours, but then when Rab drifted to sleep in his arms, he found that he had allowed himself the privilege of watching his lover sleep, restfully and peacefully.

A small smile touched his lips. 

Perhaps it would not be such a trying night after all.

 

______________________________________________

 

“I dinnae think this is a good idea.”

Bellamy looked up from his position on his knees. “There’s no question, Rab,” he said as sternly as he could. “I have gone to great lengths to arrange this for you, given how few staff we have at full health at the moment.”

Rab looked apprehensively at the great copper bath tub. He had one hand braced on the back of the nearest chair, and was watching the steam rise from the water. Bellamy added a drop of scent to the water, the oil rippling and pooling on the surface.

“Why is it steamin’?”

Bellamy’s lips twitched. “Because civilised people take hot baths,” he said, rising from the floor and reaching for the blankets around Rab. Rab stepped back warily. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not hot enough to burn you. It’ll help, and it will ease the last aches in your bones.”

Rab eyed the tub suspiciously as Bellamy helped him from his clothing.

It was a week since Bellamy had returned from London, and while Rab was recovering, he was still far from his peak strength. The household staff was still diminished, and while Mama Belle and his father were tending the others, no one was surprised that Bellamy took charge of caring for the man who was known as his lifelong friend.

With one hand under Rab’s elbow to support him, Bellamy helped Rab over to the tub. Rab hesitated, leaning against Bellamy. “Do I hae tae?”

“You stink,” Bellamy said without preamble. “You have been sweating and vomiting and pissing all over yourself for a fortnight. I’m not going to fuck you again soon if you stink as much as you do now.”

Rab looked at him, wounded. “I’ve stank worse than this before.”

Bellamy shook his head. “No, you haven’t,” he said.

Rab grimaced. “Aye?”

“Aye,” Bellamy replied. “Now, get in the demmed bath.”

Rab swore under his breath, but he was smiling slightly as he lifted his leg over the side of the tub. He swore again, more loudly when his foot touched the surface of the water. “Ye wee bugger! Ye said it’s no’ hot!”

“It’s warm at best,” Bellamy said sternly. He bent and plunged his arm into the water to the elbow as evidence and held it there. “Stop being a wee nancy.”

Rab snorted, partly in indignation, partly in amusement, and stepped into the tub with no further complaint. A hiss escaped between clenched teeth as Bellamy helped him to sit down in the tub, the water deep enough to come to his waist.

“Not dying quite yet?” Bellamy teased, kneeling upon a folded towel on the floor.

Rab wrinkled his nose. “Cold water is good enough for aebody else,” he grumbled, then shivered almost violently when Bellamy dragged a hot, damp washcloth across his chest. One hand clutched at the side of the tub.

“Let me spoil you,” Bellamy said softly, squeezing the cloth upon Rab’s shoulder and letting the water sluice down his back.

Rab looked at him, cast in gold from the fire. “A’right,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around Bellamy’s wrist and drawing it back down to capture more water. 

Bellamy rose on his knees, dragging his hand under the water, and letting the heavy trailing cloth catch briefly between Rab’s thighs, before he drew it up again. 

With gentle strokes, he washed every inch of his lover above the surface. He rinsed Rab’s matted hair, combing it with his fingers, then downwards, though he made certain not to look when he washed the scars on Rab’s back. Instead, as he rubbed the cloth down, he leaned closer and claimed a kiss, distracting Rab from his touches.

It was, perhaps, not the wisest course.

He felt the hot wetness of Rab’s dripping hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer, and all thought of washing or being clean went from his mind. Bellamy’s other hand - which had been doing a stellar job of supporting him against the edge of the tub - seemed to have a mind of its own and reached down into the water.

Rab groaned against his lips, as Bellamy’s hand found him, already hard, beneath the water.

Bellamy drew back, startled. “Already?” he asked breathlessly.

Rab looked at him, his dark eyes half-lidded. “Ye touched me,” he breathed, “like that, and ye wonder?”

Bellamy’s lips twitched helplessly. “Bathed you?” he murmured, moving his hand slowly in gentle strokes that made his lover clutch at his forearm. Bellamy’s sleeve had fallen down and was quite soaked, the fine fabric drifting in the warm water like pondweed. “Lud, I should scrub you down more often.”

Rab leaned in, kissing him again, clumsily, his eyes halfway to closed. 

As tightly as one hand was closed on Bellamy’s forearm, the other still clutched at his shoulder, and Bellamy breathed in every little stuttered moan as Rab shuddered in the tub. Water was splashing over the side, but all that Bellamy cared about was the taste of his lover’s breath upon his lips, the bruises left by Rab’s broad hands, the natural warmth of Rab’s skin.

It was a sign of how exhausted Rab was that he spent himself only a moment later in Bellamy’s hand. Bellamy sighed in mock-exasperation. “Well, I suppose you must come out of the bath now.”

“Mm.” Rab leaned back against the edge of the tub, bracing his one arm on the edge.

Bellamy sat back on his heels, looking at him. There was something endearing in seeing Rab sated and sleepy and still soaked from his bath. “You cannot stay there all night,” he said, several minutes later, flicking the water at his lover’s face. “You’ve ruined the water.”

Rab’s eyes cracked open. “Aye, I did,” he agreed with a drowsy smile. He held out a hand to Bellamy. “Ye’ll hae to help me.”

What little part of Bellamy’s clothing that wasn’t wet was promptly left sodden as he tried to haul his weak-kneed lover from the tub. 

What little strength Rab had left was spent, and he wobbled unsteadily against Bellamy, as he stumbled out the tub. Bellamy deposited him on one of the wooden chairs and swept a rough old blanket around his shoulders to serve as a towel.

“Dry yourself if you can,” he said, “and I’ll fetch you a shirt to sleep in. You don’t want to catch a chill after everything.”

Rab nodded across the room. “In the chest,” he murmured, wrapping the blanket around him more snugly. By the time Bellamy returned with the shirt, he was leaning back in the chair, his eyes closed, and his breathing evening out.

Bellamy knelt down in front of him, shaking his head fondly. “Lazy bastard,” he murmured, grabbing the edges of the blanket. Rab stirred, squinting at Bellamy, as he towelled Rab down, a sleepy smile on his face.

It took no little effort to get Rab into the clean shirt to sleep, and he hardly lifted a finger to make matters easier, already clearly halfway there. Still, Bellamy managed to rouse him long enough to stumble the short distance to the bed, and lay him down.

“Are you quite happy now?” Bellamy murmured, as Rab rolled onto his side and dragged a pillow under his head.

“Mm.”

Bellamy sighed, shaking his head fondly, and drew the covers up over his lover. As much as he loved Rab’s rough and ready nature, there was something heartening about being able to take care of him so simply. He leaned down and kissed Rab’s brow softly.

“Sleep well, love,” he whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning.”


End file.
